Dirty Blonde (14 page)

Cate felt grateful. “But you and Russo are friends.”

“No, we’re not. We used to be partners, is all.”

“On the cop shows, the partners are always best friends.”

Nesbitt smiled. “This is no buddy movie. Fact is, Russo’s okay, but there’s a reason we’re not partners anymore. We’re like Nick Nolte and Eddie Murphy. Opposites. Russo’s not a by-the-book kinda guy.”

No, he certainly isn’t.
“He came to my house last night,” Cate ventured, since she was feeling safer about confiding in him, and Nesbitt stiffened, his mouth tightening.

“He shouldn’t have. What happened?”

“He’s angry that he lost the case. He showed me a videotape of amateur porn and a man in a hotel room.”

Nesbitt’s features darkened. “He shouldn’t have done that, either.”

“So you saw it? With the man in the hotel room?”

“Yes. He showed it to me. He thinks the woman with the man, Partridge, is you.”

Cate’s heart hiccupped. “And what did you think?”

“I wasn’t sure. I thought it could be you, Judge, but I didn’t tell him that. I figured if it was you, with some guy you picked up—” Nesbitt caught himself. “I mean,
dated
.”

Cate flushed, mortified.

“I don’t know why you threw money at the guy, but it doesn’t mean you’re crooked. Or being blackmailed. Knowing what I know”—Nesbitt gestured at the papers lying between them on the worktable—“I figured it was a lovers’ quarrel.”

Cate winced.

“Hey, whatever. If there’s no murder, it’s not my job. Partridge wasn’t a homicide, so it’s just another weird coincidence. Philly’s a small town in lots of ways, and given what you were up to, it’s not unlikely you’d run into a guy like Partridge. In fact, it was just a matter of time.” Nesbitt pursed his lips under his brushy mustache. “Look at it this way. Russo doesn’t know about you, what you’re up to, so he figures it is what it looks like—a crooked judge. Or a judge being blackmailed. Not that I’m making excuses for him.”

“Did you know he was going to my house with the tape?”

“Of course not. You think I’d let him get away with that? Makes the squad look bush league.”

Cate believed him, because he looked so offended.

“Don’t worry about Russo. I’ve seen him like this before, and he gets over it. He had his hopes up about the TV thing. Me and him used to talk about it, and he took the verdict bad. He’d started spending the money before he even had it. Picturing himself at one of those infinity pools, or on the golf course. He’s a hothead, an emotional guy, but then it goes away.”

Cate wasn’t so sure. “I thought about reporting him, but I’m not, for obvious reasons.”

“Please, don’t.” Nesbitt looked worried again. “You don’t need that kind of blowback, and there’s no reason to. Trust me, I’ve known the guy twenty-some years. He’s all talk, no action.”

“Have you seen him since the news about Marz?”

“No, and he’s off today. I’ll catch him soon as I can.” Nesbitt rose to go, brushing down his dress pants. “Anyway, I got to get moving. The conference.”

“Right.” Cate rose, too. “Thanks for coming by. I do appreciate your judgment, and your discretion.”

“You’re welcome, Judge.” Nesbitt smiled. “I’m sure this has been a rough coupla weeks for you, but it’s all over now.”

“Case closed, as you guys say.” Cate walked him to the door, and Nesbitt smiled.

“You mean, ‘case cleared.’”

Cate laughed as he turned to go, and she shut the door behind him.

She leaned against the door for a minute, then looked out the window without seeing anything, and wondered why Simone would have someone follow her. Was something going on between him and his assistant? Was Gilbert jealous, and that’s why she followed her? That didn’t make sense. If that were the reason, why do it for so long? And why be so precise? 9:33. 10:23. From these papers, it looked like work, or research. She felt confounded.

Until a suspicion snuck up on her.

CHAPTER 17

Cate had come across it last night, drafting her opinion. She went over to her briefcase, opened it up, and unpacked it on the couch, taking out the three transcripts from the most important days of trial. She shuffled the thick green-bound transcripts and found the day Simone had taken the stand. She opened the transcript and flipped through. Where had she seen that reference? She’d thought it was just a throwaway at the time, but now it was looming large. She turned the pages, searching. 146. 147. 148.

There.
Simone on direct examination:

A: For example, I could make this lawsuit into a TV series. Write a spin-off from
Attorneys@Law
. Call it
Judges@Court
. And it could star a blond female judge who looked a lot like you, Judge Fante. Charismatic, attention-getting. The most alive person in the room. What do you think?

THE COURT: Great idea, I’d love it. Get Charlize Theron, for me.

A: Done.

Cate closed the transcript, angered. What if Simone hadn’t been kidding? What if he really was making a new TV show, with a woman judge as its lead? What if he’d been having her followed for research? It fit the photos, too. The questions led to more questions. Did he start having her followed, then found out what she did at night, or vice versa? Could he really have turned her sex life into a TV show? Could he still, through his production company?

Cate shuddered at the thought. If he did, every judge on the court would know it was really her, and so would every litigant, witness, and juror who came before her. Her old partners at Beecker, and her clients, CEOs and VPs of Fortune 500 companies. They’d all speculate. Gossip. Whisper.

No
. Cate wouldn’t have it, she couldn’t. She went back to the table, picked up the phone, and called information for the Four Seasons, then punched the number in and got through to the front desk. “May I speak to Micah Gilbert, please? I believe she was with the Arthur Simone group.”

“Please hold while I check the number,” the operator said, then came back on. “I’m sorry, Ms. Gilbert was never a guest.”

Damn
. “Thank you.” Cate hung up, on fire. Gilbert hadn’t testified at the trial, but she had undoubtedly been deposed during discovery. But deps weren’t required to be filed with the court. She knew nothing about the Simone organization. She went back to her desk and logged onto her computer, clicked through to google.com and plugged in “Micah Gilbert” and “Arthur Simone.” Three zillion entries came up in a list, dominated by
Attorneys@Law
. She clicked the URL and the screen changed to a simple white page with a black border, which read: WE MOURN THE PASSING OF OUR CREATOR, MENTOR, AND DEAR FRIEND, ARTHUR G. SIMONE.

Before Cate’s disappointment had a chance to set in, the tribute dissolved, revealing the slick home page for
Attorneys@Law
, with gritty photos of the fictional lawyers and a lineup of standard webpage buttons. Cate clicked ABOUT US and two addresses appeared on the screen, one in the coveted 90210 zip code listing. After CREATOR, Arthur Simone, came EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS, CO-EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS, SUPERVISING PRODUCERS and the like. After that there was one name next to an address in the less-than-coveted 19006 zip code. Philadelphia.
Attorneys@Law
evidently had offices in town, and the PRODUCTION ASSISTANT, PHILLY was Micah Gilbert.

Bingo!
Cate passed the mouse over Gilbert’s name, and another page popped up, with a large photo of the lovely Micah in a tight black pantsuit, next to a short biography, which Cate read:

Micah joined the posse two years ago and before Micah joined us, she worked forever—okay, only five years but that’s like twenty in publicist years—as a liaison slash consultant for the Philadelphia Film Office. Micah is all about Philly and her city savvy helps make
Attorneys@Law
rock on Sunday nights! Micah works way too hard, so she can be reached anytime at our Philly office.

Cate picked up the phone and pressed in the number.

After two rings, a woman picked up. “
Attorneys@Law
.”

“Micah?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry, wrong number.” Cate pressed the hook to hang up, feeling her juices start to flow. She hit the intercom button, and Emily answered. “Can you please come in?” Cate hung up, then went back to the table, grabbed Simone’s chronology, and stuffed it in her purse. Then she called out, “Come in, Emily!”

The door opened. “Hi, Judge.”

“Hey, girl. Close the door and come back here, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” Emily swished into the room in her flowing black skirt and black Doc Marten boots and took a seat in the chair opposite the desk, looking nervous.

Cate began, “First off, I’m sorry I was so rude to you and Sam this morning. I lost control and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I think it’s nice that you care so much about Marz and Simone. It shows you have a good heart.” Emily smiled shyly, a dark maroon slash of lip gloss, and Cate felt touched.

“Thanks. Did you get my final opinion in
Simone
? I e-mailed it to you last night.”

“Yes, I just finished checking the cites.”

“Great, thanks. Please print me a copy and leave it on my desk. You did a great job on your draft, and I really appreciate it.”

“Thanks.”

“Now I have to ask you to do some extra research for me, on a different issue, and I need you to keep it to yourself. Don’t tell Sam.”

“I don’t really talk to Sam, anyway.”

“Or your clerk friends in the other chambers.”

Emily nodded gravely. “I don’t have any clerk friends in other chambers.”

Ouch
. “Okay. As a hypothetical, let’s say that someone is being followed, without their knowledge, for a period of six months or so, in Philadelphia. Every movement followed, like surveillance. You need to plug into the harassment cases.”

Emily began taking notes.

“I think that’s legally actionable. I think the person being followed can get a restraining order. I also think it might be actionable criminally, under the new stalking laws, and I think there is some kind of tortious breach-of-privacy action that can be brought.” Cate was thinking out loud. “Something with major damages. Punitive damages.”

Emily kept writing.

“Also, if you have time, check into the false-light cases. I want to know if the whereabouts of a public official can be made into, let’s say, a movie. Or a TV show.”

Emily’s head snapped up, her lined eyes wide. “Are they making a TV show about you?”

So much for secrecy.
“I don’t know, but I want to be ready. One last thing. Don’t do the research or the writing in chambers. Go to the library.”

“How about the downstairs library?” Emily meant the courthouse library that all the clerks used, and occasionally a judge or two.

“No. Get off the reservation. Go to Jenkins Law Library. Take your laptop. Got it?”

“Sure,” Emily said, her young face worried. She finally rested her ballpoint. “Are you okay, Judge?”

“Of course.” Cate flashed a convincing smile and stood up. “Now, let’s go!” She got up and Emily followed, and they walked together to the clerks’ office, where Sam was bent over his computer keyboard, his back to the door.

“Sam?” Cate said. He turned in his swivel chair, his expression cowed, still. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It was uncalled for, and I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, Judge.” Sam’s lower lip trembled, and for a minute he looked like he might cry. “I know I’ve been kind of a…disappointment to you.”

“No, you haven’t, Sam. Not at all.” Cate felt a twinge for the kid, but she didn’t have time for this now. “You and I, we’ll have to talk about this when I get back. I have an errand to run. Okay, pal?”

“Okay.” Sam managed a shaky smile, and Cate ducked out of the clerks’ office and headed for Val’s desk.

“Hey, lady,” Cate called out on the fly. “Please tell me my calendar’s clear this morning.”

“Let me see, Judge.” Val turned to her computer, which set her long amber earrings swinging. A beige pashmina draped around her shoulders, on top of a brown patterned dress. She hit a key on her keyboard and slid her eyes upward while she typed. “You didn’t have to say you were sorry, you know. You gotta teach ’em.”

“Nah, it was right.” Cate grabbed her trench coat from the rack and slid into it as Val frowned at her monitor screen.

“You have a pretrial motion at eleven-thirty.
Schrader v. Ickles Industries
.”

“Damn.” Cate had meant to read those papers, too. She’d never been so behind on her work. “Please call and cancel it. Tell the courtroom deputy and stenographer, too. I won’t be back until after lunch.” She leaned over the top of Val’s cubicle and lowered her voice. “Marz killed himself with the murder weapon.”

“So it’s over.”

“Yes.”

“Hallelujah. Where’re you going?”

“You don’t want to know.” Cate hurried for the door.

CHAPTER 18

Cate hustled down the sidewalk under the cold sun, holding her coat at her neck against a biting wind. Bundled-up people hurried this way and that, their breaths making cotton puffs in the frigid air. Morning traffic clogged the narrow street, stop-and-go, mostly business deliveries at this hour, and a white Liberty Fish van honked, stalled by a UPS truck making a delivery. Cate lived only six blocks east of this neighborhood, and if Society Hill were the residential side of colonial Philadelphia, Old City had been the commercial, characterized by large industrial spaces that later proved perfect for restaurants, art galleries, lofts, photography studios, and furniture-design showrooms. And evidently, the Philadelphia production offices of
Attorneys@Law
.

Cate stopped when she reached the address, only a black-stenciled number 388 on a dented metal door wedged between a closed restaurant and a wholesale restaurant-supply outlet. She stepped back and looked up at the brick building, two stories above the restaurant-supply outlet. Fluorescent lights paneled the ceiling on the second floor; the storefront window bore no sign. The sign on the window of the third floor read TATE & SON, INDUSTRIAL DRAWING. The
Attorneys@Law
office had to be the second floor, and in this brick sliver of a building, it couldn’t be more than one room wide.